Sleep
by Mistress-Samwise
Summary: Frodo is silently brooding while keeping watch in Mordor, and the Ring convinces him that he must escape. But there is only one thing in the way... Sam. (Not a slashfic.)


Mistress-Samwise: Hey! Lookit that. I'm back with an angst story. A lovely present for you for the New Year. I hope you enjoy it, 'cause I wrote the whole thing in one sitting in the middle of the night while watching four DVDs of Monty Python's Flying Circus. I'm not kidding. I was freaking wired, man. Plot bunnies can be so vicious. Well… What are you waiting for? Read the bloody story, you fairy!

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     Sleep shall take him. Yes…

     …Yes.

---

     Oh, how I hate the moon.

     We're lying here in the wide open underneath a bare sky, the moon shining down on us, glowering, lighting us up like a candle in the night. I feel it bore into me like a pair of hateful orc eyes. Its rays are long silver fingers, groping… and treacherous… so very treacherous. There is no escape if they find us. They will find us… They will find me…

     I can't let that happen. I must find a way out.

     Escape.

     What about—

     Escape. Leave him.

     I… can't.

     Abandon him.

     But they'll capture him, and— and—

     He'll tell everything.

     Everything…

     They will hunt you down.

     And take…

     Me.

     I can't let that happen.

     No, you can't.

     So there is only one thing left to do…

---

     He is sleeping. I am on watch.

But I am not watching.

He mumbles something in his sleep and turns his head aside, burying his face in his cloak hood. Soon his breathing returns to its usual slow and steady rhythm. I creep up to him, never taking my eyes off his face. The world seems to stop while I am crouched beside him, hesitant as to what I have to do next.

We must…

Soundless for all but the faint rustle of my clothing, I straddle his waist with my knees. I freeze like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. He still remains motionless for all but the languid rise and fall of his chest. Inch by inch, I lean in closer until I can feel his breath on my face. Instinctively, my mouth wordlessly forms his name but I fail to wake him, for that part of me has already lost this battle. Unknowingly, too, my hands blindly wander to hover over his collarbone. He stirs slightly and throws his head aside, pulling his face out of the shadows of his hood. There is a vague trace of a frown set on his lips while the moonlight streams onto his face, palely illuminating his sandy-colored curls with a cold light. The Ring slips out of my collar as I lean in closer. Then I press my fingers to his soft, warm throat.

Suddenly, the world seems to come to a standstill as I feel the thrum of his pulse under my fingertips. It's slow rhythm pounds into me like waves breaking upon a shore and I feel it beat slightly faster as I gradually tighten my grasp. My own heartbeat quickens, too. It throbs in my ears, a sickening, dull sound mixed with his and his breathing… Torture. I beg for one of them to silence. The Ring sways gently on Its chain.

Sleep shall take him. Yes…

… Yes.

His brow furrows as he squirms faintly under my grip, sucking in a deeper breath.  I slowly press my thumbs further into his throat and he lets out a small squeak.

No pain. Just sleep.

He tilts his head back as he tries to get his breath back, but it is fast losing him. Then digging his hands into his bedroll, he twists his body underneath me, pushing back with his legs. Intently, I squeeze a little harder, watching him struggle blindly under my hands. I can see the Ring glint and flash as it swings back and forth in front of his face like a pendulum.

Sleep, Samwise, sleep.

 I break into a crooked grin and thrust my hands deep into his neck. Letting out a strangled cry, he arches his back and his eyes snap open. He looks up at me and tries to say my name, his eyes full of overwhelming shock and fear. They soon glisten with tears of pain, then misery, lastly with hopelessness and he struggles a little harder before surrendering to my grasp. And this is where I pause.

His face is perfectly angled in the moonlight, its silver beams shining brightly in his warm, beautiful brown eyes, glittering in his tears as they stream wetly down his cheeks, glowing softly in his hair and on his lips as they fumble vainly to form the word "Frodo" while quickly turning blue.

Oh, how I hate the moon.

END.

Mistress-Samwise: Fu-fu-fu! Isn't that the greatest bestest type of angst ever?!? And try to guess who says "Oh, how I hate the moon." It may or may not be who you think it is. I'm going to go glomp my Xbox and replay "Confuse-A-Cat" and "Upper Class Twit of the Year" in my head right now. Cheerio.


End file.
